Entwined
by threesummerdays
Summary: Set between S9 and 10. Harry contemplates gardening and has a visitor change his mind. Promise it's better than this description!


**A/N:** I promise I have another chapter of DEM in my head, but I've been frantically trying to finish final essays/presentations/etc. This oneshot, however, popped into my head this morning and I couldn't shake it. Hope it works! (P.S. I'm no plant expert, so forgive any mistakes!)

* * *

Harry stands in his backyard, staring at a large hawthorn tree in the middle of the display. It's been attacked by a wisteria vine for some years, and now that he has nothing better to do with his life, he figures he might as well take up gardening and free the poor bastard. It's a beautiful tree, and the vine is rather lovely as well, but he couldn't bear to see the tree die, so he sighs, pulls out his shears, and prepares for battle.

In the months since his… for lack of a better word, _vacation_ began, he's been bored to tears. He had hoped for some illicit visitors (one in particular), or perhaps a letter (from a certain woman), or even just a phone call without words and just a soft breath to let him know someone (she) cares.

But, despite his most sincere hopes for something wonderful, he's been, thus far, completely disappointed. She has not visited. She has not written. She has not called. She has not started to care, and so he's out here in the yard, contemplating vine-icide.

He takes step towards the tree and is about to start hacking away when he hears a voice echoing down his hall. He drops the shears immediately (he didn't really want to garden, anyway) and makes his way back inside the house.

"Harry?" she calls again, and his heart lifts significantly.

It's _her_.

"Harry?"

"Back here," he calls, all but sprinting to the front door.

She's standing just inside the door, looking horribly concerned and he can't help but let out a mental cheer of success. She's _worried_. That's always a good sign.

"Ruth," he says breathlessly. "Hi."

"Hi," she says, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. She looks up and finds him staring at her, his eyes soft and happy and bright. "You… you look… well."

"I don't feel it," he admits, shrugging lightly. "Come in, though. Take off your coat."

"Oh, I don't… I mean, I can't…"

"Ruth, please. Keep a lonely old man company."

He can almost see her wincing, but she does her best to just shrug off her coat and hang it by the door. Right beside his, which brings no small joy to his heart.

"Come on," he says once she's uncomfortable again. "You can come see the backyard."

"Harry," she says slowly as she follows him through the house, noticing every small nook and cranny of what could have been her home, "are you…_ gardening_?"

"It's a rather dark period in my life, Ruth," he says mysteriously. "Gardening seems to be the last option."

She follows him into a beautiful yard, though she admits that it's much more nature than nurture. She nods approvingly and smiles at him when she realizes he's watching her.

"It's lovely, Harry."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes," she says, holding his eyes. "I really do."

"I actually haven't done anything to it yet," he admits, his voice lowered conspiratorially. "I was about to de-vine it," he nods at the tree, "when you came by."

"De-vine?" she says, unable to hold back the smile any longer. He grins back at her.

"Indeed. I was reading that it's unhealthy to have a… parasitic plant growing on the tree. Can cause rot or something."

"But it's absolutely beautiful," she says, pointing to the curving vine. "Breathtaking."

"It is, isn't it?" he whispers, staring at the way the sun gives her a halo as she stands in his backyard and points out the beauty of his home.

"Anyway," she says, realizing she's just been telling him what to do with his own yard, "why the sudden urge to do something about it?"

"There's not much else I can do, is there?" he points out. "Other than wait. And I'm not much good at that, either."

"So you're going to be a gardener."

"That's about the sum of it, yes."

She smiles and shakes her head, looking around the yard. "How long have you let it go, Harry?"

"Since I moved in," he admits, somewhat bashfully. "Wasn't exactly a priority. It's not as though I have time to spend admiring it on the weekends."

"The tree is lovely," she says, stepping closer and running a hand over the trunk. "It looks old, too."

"I'm sure it is," he says, following her and placing his hand on the opposite side of the tree. "It was here when I moved in. Probably as old as I am."

"They can live to be 400 years old," she says, not rising to his bait. "And did you know that they only blossom twice a year?"

He shakes his head, but he just keeps staring at her. She's so beautiful here in his life that he wants to memorize every second of it.

"And I've always loved wisteria," she adds, running a gentle hand over a stem. "Did you plant this one?"

"No," he says. "It's funny," he adds, running his hand over the vine. "I never thought they'd make it."

"What do you mean?"

"When I moved in, they were just little sprouts in the ground and I thought that they wouldn't make it so far, that they'd give up. But look at them now."

"Once vines start," she says quietly, "it's very difficult stopping them."

"Poor old tree," he murmurs, patting it lovingly. "Heart of my garden, it was."

"It still is."

"But if they're sucking the life out of it…"

"They're not, Harry, look."

She points to the tree and he stares, not seeing anything particularly interesting.

"One's not killing the other. They're working together. It's… it's…"

She's distracted by the intensity of his eyes as he holds her gaze. It's not ferocity, but rather passion that makes his eyes so bright and so focused on her, and only her.

"Symbiotic," she manages to squeak out.

"How do you know?" he breathes.

"Well, neither one's dead yet," she says seriously. "So…"

He shakes his head and chuckles softly. "Wisteria can crush houses and strangle trees," he points out. "I don't know that I want this one strangled."

"But it's not. For right now, at least. And anyway," she says quietly, "it's so beautiful, it seems a shame to get rid of it."

He looks at her for a minute and wonders just how he managed to find this wonderful woman in the world of deception and lies he lives in. Granted, she's not with him in the sense of a real relationship, but they've gone past all of that. In fact, just having her here in the yard arguing with him over what plants to leave and what ones to take out makes him feel like they've been married for years. He wants to see how far he can push her when she places a hand firmly on the vine.

"Promise me, Harry, that you won't get rid of the wisteria. I know," she adds, "that it looks like it's trying to strangle the tree and that the hawthorn is going to suffer if you let them stay together, but don't push the wisteria away. It's… it's a beautiful plant, once you get used to it."

He can almost hear the puzzle pieces falling into place as he stares at her.

"But hawthorns only bloom twice a year," he says slowly, taking a half-step closer to her. She shudders, but doesn't retreat. "What if the wisteria stops it from blooming again?"

"It won't," she whispers. "If you trust it."

"I do," he breathes. "I trust it _implicitly_."

They stare at each other, hands on the tree and the vine, both trying to figure out if they're brave enough to say something about what they really mean.

"Please stop gardening, Harry," she whispers after another moment. "It's really not your style."

He chuckles and shakes his head, instinctively reaching out and pulling her into his arms, leaning his head against hers and breathing in her hair.

And then he realizes what he's done.

He's about to pull back when he realizes that she's not exactly pushing him away. In fact, she seems to be burrowing into his chest, her hand over his heart, her lips pressing softly against his neck.

"Ruth," he says hoarsely, and he hears the choked sob. "Oh, my Ruth…"

"You stupid man," she whispers, sniffing back her tears as he draws back to look at her. "You could have been killed. And for what? To save me and hand over some state secret?"

"Some state secret that doesn't work," he points out, and she waves it off.

"It doesn't matter, Harry. You shouldn't have done it. You could have died!"

"So could you," he says softly, and she collapses into his arms again.

"Please," she whispers, "don't do it again. I couldn't bear it."

"I never planned on it," he whispers back, kissing her hair. "One cannot simply separate the hawthorn and the wisteria."

She laughs between sobs and keeps her ear next to his heartbeat.

"I love you," she finally says, and his heart leaps.

"Ruth…"

"I'm tired of not saying it, Harry. I love you. And I always have. And no matter what happens, I always will."

"Don't say that, Ruth. You don't know what's to come."

"Do you love me, Harry?"

"Of course I do," he says, with such feeling that she's in no doubt that he's been trying his hardest not to say it since he first saw her in his hallway.

"Then it's that simple."

"But it's not, Ruth. That's a very romantic idea, but if they take me down, they'll try to take you, too, and I couldn't bear to do that to you again."

"If they take you down," she says slowly, "then I'll leave. And we'll be together. I'm not leaving _you_ again."

"I love you," he says firmly, holding her gaze, and she starts to cry as he leans in to kiss her.

* * *

Her fingers wind between his and he squeezes gently. "I love you," he whispers for the eightieth time in the past two hours.

"I love you, too," she says sleepily.

"Isn't it funny how we fit together?" he adds, nodding at their hands.

"Not really," she says honestly. "We're perfect."

"I didn't think we'd be," he admits after a moment. She looks up at him from his chest and he shrugs. "But then you went and wrapped yourself around my heart and I'll be damned if I've grown attached."

She smiles and leans in to kiss him sweetly. "You'll never be rid of me, Harry Pearce."

"Thank God," he whispers, and gathers her in his arms as they fall asleep.

* * *

It's been nearly a year since she died in his arms, and he still hasn't touched the backyard. It was a particularly difficult situation yesterday, one that resulted in a single painful casualty, and Erin suggested he go home and take a break for the weekend.

"Do something," she'd urged gently.

"Like what?" he'd asked.

"Gardening, I don't know."

So here he is, standing with the shears in his hand, staring at the tree and the vine. The hawthorn hasn't bloomed this year, and he knows it's because the wisteria is twisting tighter and tighter around it, cutting off its air, killing it softly…

He shakes himself and walks toward the tree. He needs to free the hawthorn from its beautiful captor. He raises the shears.

"You promised me."

He turns and drops the shears to the ground. He knows that voice, that face, those eyes, too well to not recognize her as the woman he's loved more than anything else in his whole life.

"But you're dead," he whispers, and she smiles bitterly, taking a step toward him.

"That's what they told you, wasn't it?" she breathes, and he nods, taking her in his arms and burying his face in her hair.

"God," he whispers, "you're here. You're with me."

"You're not dead either, before you ask," she says quickly, and he smiles before ducking in for a sweet kiss.

"Ruth, it's… it's impossible."

"We don't have much time. They're going to try to take you down, Harry," she says softly. "Towers told me. How and where and when and why aren't important right now," she adds at his open mouth, "because what matters is that we have time. Not much, but some."

"Swear to me that you're alive and here with me now in the flesh."

"I promise," she says seriously, and he smiles, kicking the shears out of his way.

"Good thing I don't like gardening," he says, and she laughs lightly as he hurries her inside.

* * *

"Why would Harry leave the country and leave us his house?" Erin asks as Dimitri turns the doorknob and steps inside.

"I have no idea," he says, glancing around the house. Everything personal is gone except for a single note on the kitchen counter. Di picks it up and reads it quickly.

_You two (and Rosie) are the owners of this house on one condition: you never change the hawthorn and the wisteria._

He narrows his eyes and shows Erin, who frowns. Without saying a word, she grabs his hand and pulls him to the backyard, staring at the tree.

The wisteria is blooming as it wraps around the trunk, and beside it is the first bud of the hawthorn.

* * *

**A/N:** Not in love with the ending, but hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
